


Dactylonomy

by oldcoyote (contrawise)



Series: Displacement Verse [1]
Category: Marvel (Movies)
Genre: Crossover Pairings, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-12
Updated: 2013-07-12
Packaged: 2017-12-19 06:24:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/880480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/contrawise/pseuds/oldcoyote
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How Steve Rogers missed a fight, nearly died, and met the love of his life three times - and remained mostly clueless throughout. The beginning of Displacement Verse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dactylonomy

**Author's Note:**

> This AU Avengers/Glee crossover follows movie!Steve, who was frozen in late 1944 (age 26) and woke up in 2011, and an alternate Blaine, who’s 24 at the present day and lives in NYC. Set post-Avengers.

When it came it came in fast, in flashes of light, blurred shapes and muffled sound; like he was underwater, struggling for the surface. There was an acrid, sharp-flare scent in his nose, burning metal, and the warm sticky weight of pennies on his tongue.

 _No._ Steve blinked and tried to focus.  _Blood._

The first thing he remembered was the bar.

The memory sank down and rose again, somewhere between boxing at the gym and another destination-less train ride, watching the city that went on without him. He was in a bar that looked and smelled like ones he used to know, and there was whiskey in his glass. There was a man - a man at the piano - playing something so familiar. His hair was dark and curly and his voice was beautiful, sweet and smooth; like a deep breath of clear night air after too long suffering under smoke.

 _What was that song?_  He knew it from somewhere, but the name escaped him, trapped on the tip of his tongue with too many coins.

_Blood._

He remembered the call to suit-up. Another faceless alien invasion; smaller this time, but still a threat. Then he was back in the uniform, dirty and gravel-torn on the streets of Brooklyn, and it was like coming home.

His eyes began to focus on the rim of his shield, the back plate, held up in the air. He flexed his fingers and found them empty.

More echoes of weapons fire and the familiar song of energy blasts on Vibranium brought his mind tearing into focus. He’d been in the lobby, clearing civilians, when the blast went off - his shield out of reach. He’d gone flying back into the open elevator.

 _Pain_.

His eyes shot to the long jagged triangle of metal jutting from his shoulder, and the blood smeared over his uniform shirt. He could feel his mask still clinging to his face.

 _Feet_ , his brain supplied dumbly, and his eyes focused on the dusty shoes of someone standing next to him. 

The man was holding his shield, body curled around behind it, bent over Steve and protecting them both from harm under the barrage of blue pulses. He was counting; long fingers outstretched and flicking down one by one, eyes shut tight as he concentrated on the numbers.

He reached zero and dove, slamming his fist into the keypad just as the blasts stopped coming. The elevator doors swung lazily closed just in time as the alien whirring of energy bolts started anew.

“Are you okay?”

Steve blinked at him, flinching as he tried to prop himself up on an elbow.

“Whoa, wait, you’re pretty badly-”

“Pull it out,” Steve demanded.

The man blanched. “Wh-what? No, I can’t.”

“Just pull it out. Trust me, I heal fast.”

“It could have hit an artery.”

“I need to get back out there,” Steve insisted, reaching for the shrapnel with his good arm only to have his hand swatted away.

“Stop that,” the man scolded, and promptly blushed a violent shade of red. 

“Are you a doctor?” Steve asked.

“No, god no. Sorry. Just - please. Don’t pull it out. I’ve seen enough TV to know that’s the one thing you’re  _not_  supposed to do.”

Steve huffed a hard breath through his teeth, taking a moment to measure the man in front of him. He was a mess of dirt and blood, with a long gash across his left cheek and a small galaxy of cuts across his right temple. His eyes were huge and imploring, but bright despite the haze and the lingering blush on his cheeks.

“Why were you counting?” Steve asked.

The man rocked back, surprised. “What?”

“You were counting on your fingers.”

“They ran out of firepower after forty-two shots. Then there was a buzzing, like re-loading. That took about three seconds each time,” the man swallowed, “so if I counted right, I had enough time to close the door.”

The corner of Steve’s mouth twitched in silent approval.

“If this hit an artery, I’d be tired from blood loss,” Steve said. “Or dead already.”

“You don’t know what damage it can do on the way out,” the man told him.

“How old are you, son?”

The man’s shoulders dropped. “I’m twenty four. Don’t call me that.”

Steve raised his good hand in apology.

With a sigh, the man closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I just - I don’t want to be the guy that killed Captain America.”

“Hey,” Steve bumped a hand against the man’s leg to catch his attention, and held his eyes, “what’s your name? Where are you from?”

The man considered him for a moment before he wet his lips absently. “Blaine Anderson. Westerville, Ohio.”

Steve shifted his balance gingerly to peel the mask back off, revealing his face. “Steve Rogers. Brooklyn.”

Blaine’s mouth fell open, eyes wide and full of wonder. “I - I remember you.”

“You were the man in the bar,” Steve said, gaze lingering on the matted curls that framed Blaine’s face. “You were playing piano.”

“You left me a tip, I thought you were checking me o- I - but - you’re…  _Captain America_ ,” Blaine breathed, eyes falling to the bloodied star on Steve’s chest. His blush came rushing back, and he looked away quickly.

“Forget that. Right now, I’m just some guy named Steve. And I need your help.” He lifted his free hand, pointing to the door. “My friends are out there. Innocent people are out there, and I gotta help them. So I need you to help me.”

Steeling himself, Blaine shuffled forward on his knees and nodded. “You need me to - pull that out.”

“Yes.”

Blaine peeled off his sweater. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

Blaine nodded. “If you’re sure.”

“Trust me.”

Drawing a deep breath, Blaine tried to steady his hands. The energy pulses beating against the door suddenly stopped.

“They’re gone, see?” Steve offered. “No pressure. They’ve moved on. We can get out of here. Just as soon as I’m on my feet, I’ll get us out. I got no chance of pulling it out straight at this angle.”

“Okay.” Blaine drew another deep breath. “This is… I can do this.”

Steve’s brow lifted.

“Sorry, I know, you’re - the one who has to - with the pain. Right.” Blaine shook his head, blushing again with a soft, embarrassed chuckle.

“You can do this,” Steve repeated, amused. “I trust you.”

“Oh god, don’t say that, you’re freaking me out,” Blaine admitted in a rushed voice. “I’ll try to - pull it out as straight as I can. Just, brace yourself on something?”

Nodding, Steve reached out on instinct and realised a moment too late he’d clamped a broad hand down on Blaine’s thigh.

“O-kay,” Blaine’s voice was shaky and high, somewhere between mortified and terrified. “Um, this is going to … hurt.”

Steve shot him a playful look.

“Shut up,” Blaine said. “Okay. Do you want me to count down from three?”

“Three is fine.”

Still drawing deep, steadying breaths, Blaine reached out and gently wrapped both hands around the shrapnel, finding his grip. “Ready?”

Steve nodded. “Do it.”

He caught the soft whisper of Blaine’s voice counting down, but his eyes were drawn to the flicker of Blaine’s fingers, flinching in the air by the metal as he counted, as if he couldn’t help it.

“One.”

He heard a voice a lot like his own, crying out in agony. The heart-beat pounding of blood in his shoulder intensified, and he felt the sudden flood of a prickling sensation sweeping down his injured arm to his fingers. There were firm hands slipping over his skin, hot and sticky, and a sudden burst of the pain anew as Blaine tightened his makeshift tourniquet. 

“Steve?! STEVE!”

“Blaine-” Steve mumbled under waves of dizziness, eyes opening and closing again. “What was- that song?” 

The sensation of slowly falling rushed over him, like he were made of lead and sinking fast.

“I was,” he uttered, lips dry and heavy, “I was going to ask-”

And then there was darkness.

When he woke this time, it was to fluorescent light and the familiar sounds of a hospital. The S.H.I.E.L.D logo, emblazoned across the wall and the clipboard at the end of his bed, told him all he needed to know about where he was.

It took him a moment to remember the shrapnel and the elevator, the face of a man hovering over him, terrified. There were warm hands on his face, a voice calling his name.

 _Blaine Anderson. Westerville, Ohio_.

His gaze fell to his bandaged shoulder, and after a moment he carefully flexed the fingers on his injured arm.

“You’re going to be fine,” a woman’s voice echoed from the door, and his head snapped up at the intrusion.

“You heal quickly, Mr Rogers, but not as fast as you think you do,” she said teasingly, closing the gap between them and gathering his clipboard. “You’ll be back to normal in a few days.”

“And the Horde?”

“Gone,” she said without looking up from his charts. “The fight was almost over when you checked out, your teammates saw to the rest.”

Steve’s jaw clenched as his gaze fell to his injuries.

“You’re a hero, Mr Rogers. But you’re still human.”

“Some hero,” Steve muttered, eyes still downcast.

“You were to that boy you saved, he got out unharmed for the most part,” she insisted, hooking his clipboard over the end of the bed and turning towards the door. “That should be enough.”

“I didn’t save him,” Steve answered, looking up to find she’d already left. 

He added quietly, stunned in his own realisation: “He saved me.”

…

It was three days before he went home to his empty apartment. He spared a moment to glance around the golden walls, drenched in sunset, before he turned and walked back out the door.

The bar wasn’t far, only a few blocks away, but the man behind the piano wasn’t the right one. He sat for a glass of whiskey, useless as all alcohol was for him, and waited through just enough songs to know it wasn’t his night.

The air was cool on his face on the walk back home, and he counted the windows on his fingers as he went, like a private reminder.

He pushed through the front door of his apartment building and let it drift closed behind him, only stopping to turn when he heard his name.

The breathless rush of it made him shiver, the desperation in that voice.

“Blaine?”

“I saw you - at the bar, you-” Blaine was panting, hands gesticulating in the air as he stumbled through the doorway into the tiny lobby. “You left? I wanted to,” a gasp, “say hi.” He waved weakly.

Steve's eyes narrowed in amusement, mouth curling into a small, affectionate smile.

Blaine’s eyes widened. “And I just - chased you home. Like a crazy person. Oh my god.”

“It’s okay,” Steve said quickly. “You - I wanted to see you. See - how you were doing, that is” he adjusted quickly, feeling suddenly awkward in his own skin. It was different, out of the uniform. “I mean… uh...”

“You wanted to ask something?” Blaine offered.

“What?”

“Before you passed out, in the elevator. You asked me about a song?”

Steve’s brow shot up, mouth falling open gently in surprise. “I did?”

“You did,” Blaine said, rubbing at the back of his neck. “I mean, I tried to find you - afterwards. But I figured you were busy with the,” Blaine waved a hand, “not dying and all.”

Steve chuckled softly. “Right.”

“What was the song?”

“Y-you were playing it,” Steve offered, feeling suddenly nervous. “In the bar. The first time, I mean. You were - playing a song I knew. I don’t really ... _know_ any music anymore.”

“You’re actually him, aren’t you?” Blaine asked suddenly.

“What?”

“I don’t - I don’t know  _how_. But, Captain America.  _The_  Captain America. From like, nearly seventy years ago. You’re him.”

Steve swallowed roughly. “Not many people remember him.”

“I googled you,” Blaine admitted.

“You - what - me?” Steve stammered.

“I looked you up,” Blaine clarified quickly, blushing. “Googled. It’s a search engine. It’s not dirty or anything, I - yeah. Oh my god,” Blaine covered his face with both hands. “I looked you up, that’s all.”

Steve felt suddenly too warm despite the cool night air. “Right.”

“So - you are? Him?”

“It’s a long story,” Steve sighed, looking away.

“I’m not really doing anything tonight,” Blaine said. 

Steve dropped his keys.

“Oh god, no, not like that - I mean,” Blaine countered quickly. “It was - I’ll be seeing you.”

“Wait, no, don’t go!” Steve answered in a rush, ignoring his keys.

A soft smile curled the edges of Blaine’s mouth. “No, the song. It was -  _I’ll Be Seeing You_.”

Steve’s mouth fell open. “Oh.”

A slow, perfect shiver rippled down Steve’s spine, and he drew a ragged breath, unable to look away.

Blaine wet his lips carefully. “You know, you told me to trust you. And then you almost died on me,” he said. “I’d say you owe me a drink.”

Steve chuckled, grateful for the release from the unfamiliar ache that clung tight in his stomach. “That’s fair,” he admitted, bowing to collect his keychain.

“I have to say,” Blaine began, eyes glittering mischievously as he moved towards the door. “You look pretty good for a guy in his nineties.”

Steve huffed out an amused sound as he followed. “You think you’re so smart for a guy who can only count with his fingers.”

“Hey!” Blaine cried in mock outrage. “Don’t make fun, I was the only one there to pull _actual_ shrapnel out of you. Nobody else volunteered.”

“You don’t think it’s a weird coincidence,” Steve wondered, “that you were the man from the bar?”

Blaine shrugged. “Not really. It’s New York.” 

“What are the chances of it being you twice?”

“Three times,” Blaine corrected. “We’re here now. I could say it’s a weird coincidence that you were the hero from the elevator.”

 _No,_ Steve thought as he pulled the door closed behind them. 

_I’m pretty sure that was you._

~ Fin ~


End file.
